What Love Really Means
by WomanWarrior
Summary: Exploring what would have happened had there been no Woman Who Rides Like a Man or Lioness Rampant, and what would have happened had Alanna and Jon stayed together. This story begins almost immediately after the end of In The Hands of the Goddess.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Well, here we go! I've written Harry Potter fanfic before, but not Tamora Pierce fanfic. I though this would be a good place to start, with my favorite character and the future king of Tortall. This should be an interesting ride, so buckle your seatbelts and let's get started. As anyone will say, I appreciate people reading my story, but I love people who review my story!_

"You're really going?" Jon doubtfully looked at his old squire.

"Yes, I'm really going! How many times do I have to tell you? People here aren't going to accept me for who I am, they're going to start treating me like a woman! You know I earned my shield - but there's people who'll always believe I did it through trickery of some sort." Alanna pitched clothing into saddlebags, putting everything she wasn't taking into a large storage trunk.

"But the Chamber of the Ordeal…"

"Can't be tricked, I know. You know. But I don't need people looking down on me for being a woman."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Alanna! Look, you don't have to go off and prove yourself. You can beat even me with a sword, and everyone knows that!"

"I do. And that's final. I refuse to be treated like some prissy woman." Grabbing her saddlebags, buckling on Lightning's sheath, she left her old quarters for the final time, slamming the door hard behind her. "I hate you, Jon," she whispered to herself, toting her gear through twisting palace corridors. "You made me feel too feminine, so now that people know who I really am, they have something to throw in my face. I should've just died a virgin."

"Ye have no idea where she went?" Coram was frantic. "She tied me up with her witchin', knocked me out, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of her since!"

"Calm down, Coram." Jon's jaw was tight as he paced his chambers. "We'll find her. Unless she disappeared off the face of the earth, we'll find her. Besides, she can't have been gone more than a few hours."

As much as Alanna hated the cold, the heat and sand of the desert was worse. The only people she'd seen had been a small group of three hillmen. Apparently they'd thought that picking off a woman traveling alone would be easy - now, all three were dead, left to the mercies of the sand. _How much more stupid do I get? Just because the people of Persopolis were friendly back when I was a page doesn't mean that the Bazhir will be anxious to meet me._

_Can't we go back to Corus? _yowled Faithful. _Sand and cats do not mix._

"You probably have the right idea. I can't show my face in Corus now, though. People don't appreciate that I disguised myself, earned my shield, and then just left. Maybe someday, but not now."

_You just don't want to face Jon, do you?_

"Sometimes, cats would do better to be quiet," replied Alanna, whistling innocently as she tapped Faithful lightly on the nose. "Besides, why should I be afraid of Jon? I love him, you know that!"

The cat licked a paw, rubbing it over his face impatiently. _No, you're just afraid of what he's done to you. You're afraid of being a woman._

Jon swore as fluently as the thieves he'd learned from. "Damn it! I can't see anything!" Angrily, he pitched the scrying mirror across the room, where it shattered upon contact with the wall. Turning it the knock on the door, he pulled it open.

George Cooper stood there, looking a good bit older then twenty-five. "My spies haven't found anything," he said after bowing deeply and collapsing into the proffered chair. "Nothing! And you yourself said I've got the best network around, better even then my Lord Provost's!"

Jon too slumped into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "Have you slept like I have?" he asked his old friend - a friend Alanna had introduced him to.

"How's that, Your Majesty?" A ghost of a smile darted across George's lips.

"I don't think I got four hours of sleep last night."

"Ah, missing your bedfellow, then? I thought you were looking for Alanna as a comrade, not as a lover!" Although it was still painful, knowing that he and Alanna would never get to share what she shared with Jon, he knew that Jon would do right by her.

"You really are impossible, George! I'm looking for Alanna because she ran off without telling anyone where she was going, and by the Gods, she was stupid enough to go alone! She knows it's almost raiding season, and if she went south like she'd planned - it's always raiding season down there." He broke off swearing.

"We'll find her somehow." Even George didn't look convinced. "How's Coram holding up?"

"He's holding up. Sometimes I wonder if he needs a woman around. He's busy with guard duties by day, drinking by night, and complaining that there's no one to give him hangover remedy in the morning. I think he's worried, though."

"I don't know how the Bazhir can live like this," Alanna spoke aloud, even though no one could hear her. "This damned sand is everywhere, and it's not going away!"

_Can't we just go back to Corus? This is a pointless endeavor._

"Faithful, I love you, but you really can be stupid at times! I already told you--" Suddenly, without warning she was forced to her knees, dropping her dinner in the process. Behind her, she heard Moonlight whinny in fear.

When she was finally allowed to rise, she looked up… and up… and up into the eyes of the Great Mother Goddess. Throwing back the hood of her cloak, she spoke. "You don't need to abuse poor Faithful, first of all. And second of all, when are you going to learn?"

"Going to learn what, Mother? I don't mean to be rude, but I do have my shield, and now, I'm on a trip to discover myself."

"Child, all you're discovering about yourself is that you have a strong dislike of sand. And not only that, but you're abusing yourself for loving Jon. Why?"

"I'm not abusing myself for loving him! I'm trying to break up with him painlessly - for him, I mean, as I don't love him."

"Apparently you didn't hear what I told you nearly four years ago about learning to love. You're not going to be able to run from how he feels about you. It will be even harder to run from how you feel about him."

"Goddess, but… I don't…"

"Ah, your Rogue." Alanna's blush proved her correct. "You'll have to do something about him, if you want to marry Jon…"

"But I don't want to marry Jon, that's the thing! I… He hasn't even proposed yet! He might not _ever_ propose!" she blustered.

"You don't know what you want, do you?"

"I don't even know if I want to be a knight errant, or even if I want to keep my shield! I'd almost rather find some Lower City commoner and marry and forget about who I am."

"Child, it doesn't work that way."

By now Alanna was starting to cry, which took her beyond furious. She hated to cry. It was feminine, it was weak… "I j-just… want some t-t-time… off," she blubbered.

"Time off from what?" The Goddess knew exactly what, but it wasn't the gods' duty to interfere more than was necessary. She'd probably taken it too far already.

"Life! I don't know what I want to do, I don't even know if I want to marry, let alone who I want to marry!"

"Then come with me, my child," whispered the Goddess, wrapping the kneeling knight in her cloak. Alanna's last sensation was that of whirling gray fog.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** Now, do you honestly think that these characters and their world are mine? If you do, you're dreaming. I may have a small amount of talent in terms of writing, but my gift is not nearly asbig as Tamora Pierce's. See, I'm just playing in her wonderful sandbox. It's quite a nice sandbox, actually. But still, it isn't mine. However – the plot IS all mine! Yay! And – joy to top all joys – so it Ewan!_

_Author's Note: Y'all asked for more – so I'm giving you more. I think I would've given you more whether you wanted it or not; but positive reviews always help. So hopefully this will appease your tastes for a while, so I can work on chapter three. That's right – we're not done yet. So double-check your seatbelts, folks, because I can be a crazy driver sometimes!_

((--))

Scrying was not working. All Jon could see was a grayish fog, no matter what he used. Water, glass, air, fire, even oil - nothing worked. He'd even asked Thom - her twin brother, for the sake of the Gods! - and he couldn't see anything, either. It was all highly frustrating.

He wanted to help her, find out what trouble she'd gotten into this time. But how to go about it when he had no clue where she was? Continuing down the hallways, he was staring at the ground and in doing so, managed to bump into Raoul.

"Damn, Jon, watch where you're going!" Raoul's tone was laughing despite his harsh words. The stack of books and papers he'd been carrying fluttered or crashed to the floor.

"Raoul? Are you running errands for Gary again? You know you're supposed to be…" His eyes caught his friend's and he stopped.

"Look, I'm trying to help you find Alanna, all right? She's as much my friend as yours…" The big knight flushed crimson. "Well, not really, but you know what I mean. She's important to me."

"I know she hates it, but I worry about her," Jon replied. "It's stupid to be a woman traveling alone. Even one who happens to have her shield. And no matter how good with Lightning she is, she can't hold off five or more people at once. It's just not physically possible."

((--))

Alanna woke slowly, drifting like a butterfly from the field of dreams. Rubbing her sleep-encrusted eyes, she looked around the room. Although it wasn't very large, it was comfortably appointed, with the bed, a small chest of drawers, and a night-table with a fat candle on it. Currently, the candle wasn't lit, as sunlight streamed in through the open window. Filmy white curtains belled out in the breeze, which signified that the day was absolutely perfect.

Looking around further, she discovered that clean clothes had been left for her; a forest green shirt and soft deerskin breeches. Getting up, she found supple leather boots at the foot of the bed, and to her delight, Lightning in its sheath hung on the door handle. Dressing quickly, she buckled the sword-belt around her waist, hooking the sword to it. Drawing her familiar fighting companion, she stared at it.

It wasn't Lightning, the sword she'd had for years. Instead, although the battered crystal and elegantly jeweled hilt were the same, the blade was slightly wider and made of extremely valuable blue steel. A strange magic had been placed on it, so that it hummed slightly in her hand, as if just waiting to be used.

Wrinkling her forehead in puzzlement, Alanna shoved it back into its place at her hip. She pulled open the door, and faced with the decision, she turned left down the long stone hallway. _Funny, my room didn't look like it belonged in a building… castle? this big. Oh well._ Hand on the hilt of her sword, she continued wandering aimlessly until, by chance, she came upon a large hall with several comfortable chairs. Perching herself on the edge of one, she jiggled her foot on the floor to pass time.

"Ah, my child. You're awake." The Great Mother Goddess' voice was calm as always, but she seemed much more relaxed, much less goddess-like than normal.

"Where I am? Why I am here? What should I do? How do I get back?" Alanna's questions tumbled out in a stream.

"Slow down! I can only answer them one at a time. You're in the realms of the Gods. Yes, I know," she said, holding up a hand in response to Alanna's open mouth. "You said you needed a break – so you have one. What should you do? Why, enjoy yourself! Take your sword outside; there are certainly people who would like to joust against the only full-fledged female knight. The stables are there for your use; you may ride any of the horses you please so long as you do not stray off my property. And trust me, child, you will know where the boundaries are. As to how you get back – I'll let you figure it out. It's a good challenge for you, at least for now."

Excited at the prospect of exercise without a weary horse and sand continually blowing in her face, Alanna gave a very unfeminine whoop and ran outside. The grass was lush and vibrantly green, the trees in full summer leaf. However, the temperature was relatively mild, with a slight breeze blowing from what she guessed was the west. Off to the left were open-air practice courts with not only fencing rings but tilting quintains, jousting lanes, and targets for shooting. Behind the courts was a stone building that Alanna assumed was the stable block. To the right was a gigantic sand riding arena with log-pile jumps and weave-poles.

Seeing only two people engaged in combat, content to fence with each other – gods really have mock sword-fights? – she headed towards the stable. Inside, it was dark and cool. Walking down the center aisle, she paused in front of a stall. Inside was a silver bay charger – a color she had only heard about, sleek brown with black stockings and a white mane and tail. Reading the elegant brass stall-plate, she found that his name was Prideful Gain. "Hey, Pride boy. Wanna go for a ride? Let me go find a brush and hoof-pick and your tack. I'll be back."

_The gods really do get the best deal. Look at this!_ The brush alone had a mahogany grip with soft horsehair bristles, the hoof-pick had an elaborately carved handle inlaid with silver, and the tack… The saddle, bridle, and breastplate were made of the finest chocolate brown leather money could buy, with silver accents on the saddle's cantle, the center of the breastplate, and the browband of the bridle. Not even Jon's _parade tack_ was this fine! And he was crown prince!

Alanna stopped short. _Stop thinking about Jon this instant, damn it! You don't love him, remember? You're trying to forget everything!_

Taking her time, she groomed Pride until the stallion shone, and then carefully laid the saddle and crisp white saddlecloth over his back, cinching it up slowly. Holding his nose firmly in one hand, she slid the bit into his mouth and the headstall over his ears. "There you go, buddy. That really does look gorgeous on you." Grabbing his reins, she led him out towards the riding arena.

Mounting in a single, practiced motion, she and Pride walked amiably around the arena before picking up a steady trot. Quickly getting used to each other, Alanna squeezed slightly for a canter. After going several times around, she slowed to a walk. She studied the jumps, picking out a simple course, kicking Pride into a gallop, and popping over each fence in turn. Slowing to a walk, Alanna thought about how nice it was to ride for fun, rather than for training for war or in a war.

A voice came from the edge of the arena behind her. "You handle that stallion well. He's a lot of horse for one so small as you."

Alanna whipped around in the saddle, her movement causing Pride to half-rear and spin on his haunches. "Watch who you call little! I'm a full knight, back home. My warhorse is even bigger than this guy here."

"I apologize for offending you."

_That's strange, _Alanna thought. _If this is the Divine Realms, then he's a god, and gods don't usually apologize for offending mortals._

"I am Ewan, patron god of foot soldiers in Galla." Alanna jumped to the ground, bowing at the waist. His human form was young, mid-twenties or so, with a slightly hooked nose too big for true good looks. His eyes sparkled green and his hair was a wavy light brown. A sword was buckled around his waist and a bow and quiver of arrows hung over his back. "I was coming out to practice my archery – keep in shape, you know – and couldn't help but notice you." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You said you were King's Champion back home. May I ask where you're from, that they would let a woman not only earn her shield, but also become Champion?"

((--))

Jon was frustrated. Sleepless nights spent reading ancient texts in hope of discovering a better way to find Alanna did not help matters. Where could she have gone, that he couldn't find her? Rubbing a hand wearily across his face, he pulled the last book towards him. If there was nothing in here… She had to still be alive, she had to.

_Illusionary Spells… Invisibility Spells… Protection Walls… Scrying._ There. Page 783 to page 948. Flipping through the book, he skimmed over the pages in question. General Scrying… Tools of the Seer/Scryer… Advanced Scrying Techniques – finally, something that could possibly help. Bending over the book, Jon began to read closely.

_When the average scrying techniques, such as glass, mirrors, water, fire, and smoke do not work, there are several alternatives. Many come at great risk to the mage who attempts them; however, they usually succeed in showing what the mage or mages want to see. For many of these techniques, a personal link with the person, place, animal, or thing that you desire to see is necessary._

_The first technique to be covered is **Blood Scrying**, the most potent of all scrying magics. In order to practice blood scrying properly, a direct link with the object is necessary. It must be a place you have visited, an animal who is a pet of the mage's, or an object that has been touched by the mage. In the cases of scrying to find people, the mage must have an extremely direct link. The person must be either immediate family or a lover with whom the mage has been most intimate._

_Well, _thought Jon, _it's worth a try. Alanna and I have certainly been "most intimate" before._

Continuing, he read: _In order for blood scrying to work, the mage must slit his forearm from wrist to elbow, allowing the blood to collect in a shallow dish. Once this dish has a layer of blood fully covering the bottom, the mage should speak the appropriate scrying spell (Appendix D, Section 4, "Blood Magics") and draw the corresponding rune just above the surface of the pan._

_When attempting blood scrying, the mage should be aware that loss of too much blood will put them in danger of death, as will the amount of magic necessary. Also, attempting this variety of seeing magic on an object, animal, place, or person with whom the mage does not have the direct links described previously will cause the blood to boil in the mage's veins, resulting in a slow, painful death._

Quickly, Jon skimmed the remainder of the chapter, finding no technique as powerful as this one. _I wonder how many people realize that you can scry using your own blood._ He rang the bell and a servant came dashing up. "I need a shallow baking pan, quickly! Don't dawdle!" Normally, he wasn't this sharp with servants, but worry for Alanna and his tiredness made him snappy. At the servant's odd look, he waved her away impatiently.

When she returned bearing a small metal dish, he gestured for her to leave, whispering locking spells on the door and windows after her. It would do no good to have someone walk in on him.

Gritting his teeth, Jon drew his belt knife. Holding his lower left arm over the surface of the pan, he slit it as described in the book. Closing his eyes against the sudden wash of dizziness, he began whispering the incantation, sketching the runes in the air just above the pan with a finger burning blue. His breathing grew heavy, so that he was nearly panting. When he opened his eyes… Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

It was more of that damned gray fog, but now – it parted. Only slightly, as if there was a rip in a semi-sheer cloudy curtain – but there was a tear. It slowly grew wider, and the image simultaneously grew larger. The woman – there, on the horse – she had to be Alanna. That red hair, which she'd chopped once again to chin-length, was unmistakable. The charger she was mounted on was a silver bay – he doubted that even Stefan, the hostler, had seen a silver bay up close. She cantered steadily around a sand riding ring, bigger even then the castle's, and now rode over a jump, then another. Stopping, she mouthed something and her horse spun, whinnying without sound. The angle of the picture changed to show a handsome man, lips moving, and Alanna's reply.

Jon wanted to see no more. Screaming the spell to cut off the vision, he flung the tray of his own blood at the wall, stood up, and promptly fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** Oh yes. I'm sitting in my huge New York City apartment, typing on my state-of-the-art computer, enjoying on my endless supply of ice cream. Definitely. Not. Sorry, I ain't Tamora Pierce. If you're looking for her, you're just gonna have to look elsewhere. The only parts that are mine are the plot and Ewan._

_**Author's Note**: We can't just leave Jon unconscious on the floor, Alanna wondering why a god just told her she's Champion when she isn't, blood on Jon's wall, and Alanna with a sword not hers. That would be completely unfair of me. So, always remember; check your seatbelts, batten the hatches, and hang on tight! And also, I seriously apologize for this taking so long. I was hugely busy; then I had some major decisions to make in terms of where I want to go with this, so I had to keep changing things and moving them, etc. Hopefully the next chapter will not take quite this long._

"Hasn't someone taught you better? You know not to overextend yourself! You were this close –" Duke Baird held up a thumb and forefinger about a half-inch apart to demonstrate "- to killing yourself. No, you can't leave," he added as the man tried to get up. "You're going to stay here in the infirmary for a while."

"_Champion_?" Alanna looked like she'd just been hit with a ton of bricks. "_Champion_? Me. Champion. No." She dismounted clumsily, made nervous by the god's allegation that she, of all people, was King's Champion of Tortall.

Ewan smiled smoothly. "Slip of the tongue, mortal. Slip of the tongue. I meant full-blooded knight, you see. Even we gods may get confused at times. Now, would you so honor me by joining me in a fencing match? My skills are a bit rusty."

"Let me put Pride away." Alanna was slightly wary; Ewan seemed more slippery then he had at first. Not quite as… well, as honest as he had. Although, that could just be her sharpened senses catching the tiniest mistake. _If calling me King's Champion is a _tiny mistake_, then I'm an expert seamstress._

Uneasily, she returned Pride to his stall and his tack to its hooks and racks. Unsheathing her sword – it wasn't really Lightning anymore, was it? – she left her sword-belt and boots in a mound of currently unnecessary horse blankets. _Woman, what are you doing? You realize you're fighting a minor god. They can't die. You, on the other hand, very well can._

_Well, I'm not going to_, she countered her own conscience as she strode quickly over to the practice courts. Stretching, she faced her now-shirtless opponent. _There are times I wish I could go shirtless_, she thought before turning her focus onto the matter at hand. Balancing the sword in her hand, she began to circle warily. Disconcertingly, Ewan did not begin to shout insults as many of her opponents did. He, like she, thought that it was a pointless waste of breath, apparently.

Suddenly he struck in with a hacking backhanded sweep towards her left side. She quickly blocked it, dancing in towards his shoulder. Efficiently, he dodged out of the way. Seeing the stocky mortal as a worthier fencing partner than he had originally, he brought his sword in, striking hard, flashing in, out and around, back and forth. Alanna blocked all but a few of his strikes; those she failed to block left shallow cuts along her arms, across one thigh, and across her right cheekbone. Quickly, she managed to get in a few attacks of her own, but he easily blocked. Coming back, he quickly and efficiently flipped the sword out of her hand and put his sword to her throat.

"Well fought," he said, not breathing hard at all, despite having just executed one of the most complex series of strikes Alanna had ever seen.

"You as well," she returned, panting slightly. _Fighting mortals may not take a toll on the gods, but fighting gods definitely takes a toll on mortals_, she thought wryly, cleaning her sword and doing cool-down stretches.

"Look, Raoul, I'm sorry I snapped at you the other day. I need help. Baird won't let me out of bed for another three days, but Alanna was with…"

"Wait. Slow down!" the big knight replied. "I'm very confused."

"I tried blood scrying to find Alanna." Raoul whistled. "It worked, to a point. I found her, but I don't know where it was. She was with some man… Someone I don't know. And I know that love should be built on trust and all, but I don't know where she is and I don't know who she was with. Afterwards, I fainted, and Baird says that I almost overreached myself. Now he won't let me leave the infirmary for three days. Do you see why I need help?"

"Wow… Blood scrying – Jon, do you realize that over three-quarters of the mages who try that end up dead?"

"Holy shit… No, I didn't." Jon looked troubled. Struggling into a sitting position, he scrubbed at his sapphire eyes with the heels of his hands. "I guess love does make us blind. You know I love her. Now, will you help?"

"What do you want me to do? You know nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your father probably wants to send me out on boarder patrols in a few days again. So you expect me to defy him – my king, who I swore an oath of fealty to – to go looking for what is essentially a needle in a haystack."

"I'm sorry. We need to go about this more logically. You're right."

Cuts and scrapes miraculously healed, Alanna was now starving. Returning to the stable, she pulled on her boots, returned her sword to its sheath, and buckled the sword-belt around her hips. Giving Pride a last rub on his nose, she double-checked that the tack was cleaned and oiled before going up to what she assumed was the Goddess' castle.

And a castle it was. The outside was all rough stone, with many clear glass windows, shutters wide open to let the day's light in. It was four stories tall and sprawled over her land. At the back was a pleasant stone courtyard area, with a round table and six chairs. Several rooms on the upper stories had glass double doors and balconies fronted with elegant wrought iron railings.

Slowly, taking in the view, Alanna ambled towards the door she recalled coming out of. Pulling it open – the hinges were so well oiled, they made not even a whisper – she walked into the hall once more. The room felt oddly empty. It seemed like the type of room that should've been filled with ladies in petal-soft gowns in jewel and pastel tones, handsome knights and nobles in tunics and spit-shined boots. Instead, she, scruffy, wearing men's clothes, and with a sword-belt around her waist, was the only person there.

Tip-toeing, she headed towards the first door on the right. Drawing room. _Well, that's helpful. In case I'm ever invited to a formal tea party here_, she thought sarcastically. Continuing down the line of doors, she finally opened the fifth-to-last one. It was the Great Hall, filled with empty tables. Only a small round table on the dais was set, and that with only two places. She walked up to it, slowly, almost reverently. Choosing one place, she sat down. Glancing at the empty plates, she looked up.

And there was the Goddess, in all her glory. She was a more normal height here, taller than Alanna, but not over seven feet tall. She was dressed simply in a teal-colored dress and slightly darker overdress. Her long chestnut hair was bound back with a circlet of gold, and her only other adornment was a small gold chain around her throat.

Alanna quickly scrambled to her feet, scraping her chair back in her hurry to bow. "Sit, my child," the Goddess requested with a smile. "I hoped you would be able to find the Hall." She rang a miniature silver bell that sat to her right. Suddenly, the first course – chilled apple soup – was before them. "And now we eat. First, a prayer. Mighty gods and goddesses, we request your guidance throughout the remainder of our day, and the remainder of our lives."

And with the practice of years, Alanna intoned, "So mote it be," before picking up her spoon and hungrily attacking her soup.

"I don't see how it could be any of these places," Jon groaned. Raoul had brought him a stack of maps and books featuring or mentioning places that were somewhat similar to what he had described.

Raoul groaned and buried his hands in his hair. "Damn it, Jon, that's all there is. Unless you want me to bring you maps of the desert or something. You mentioned green plants and a stone castle, and I don't think the Bazhir can claim any of that."

"You're right. This is ridiculous. I suppose I should just trust her to come back, shouldn't I." It was not a question at all, rather, it was just a statement.

Hunger satisfied, Alanna leaned back in her chair. "I wonder how much everyone is missing me?" she thought aloud.

"Would you like to see them?" Without waiting for a reply, the Goddess waved her hand over the tabletop. It twisted and swirled in a pattern of wood-grain, before allowing itself to reform into a picture with a birds-eye view of a castle chamber.

"You're right. This is ridiculous. I suppose I should just trust her to come back, shouldn't I." Jon was speaking, apparently to Raoul. Both looked slightly worried, and a pile of books and parchment maps was spread on the table between them.

"You should," Raoul replied. "She's independent, you know that. If you want her to marry you, you'll have to let her do some of her own things."

Jon sighed. "That's what I was afraid of."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: **You all know the drill. Of course I don't own any of this (well, I do own Ewan and the plot) and I'm not making money off of it, either. I'd like to know what you're on if you think I own the characters and setting. Or what you're drinking. Or which hole in the ground you're sticking your head into. Because I may join you._

_Author's Note: My creative muse is back. She took an unnaturally and annoyingly long vacation. But she has returned with more than enough ideas to allow me to finish this chapter! I'm not sure how much longer this story will be, but it is most certainly not done yet. So prepare for liftoff! (We've graduated from a car to a much more high-tech rocket for the remainder of the trip.)_

Alanna shook her head. "Jon… We've known each other for years. You know you can't wrap me in a silk dress and expect me to be perfectly behaved at parties and balls and all that nonsense."

"Why don't you go outside? I'm sure there is another horse in the stable-block for you to ride. Or you could practice your archery. I believe there is a bow well-suited to you in the storage room. It's well-made, and all the strings and arrows are in nice order." The Mother's voice was polite but insistent. "I have a small matter I need to look into."

Alanna scraped her chair back after the Goddess, bowed quickly, and hurried from the room. She didn't really want to go. Right now, she felt a strange longing. Like the feeling of a sweet-toothed someone who has abstained from eating cookies and candy for health reasons, hoping that in the near future they will be able to feast on their favorite foods again, only to be told that they can't.

Dragging her feet now, she finally made it to the stables. Despite the wide array of horses and ponies – everything from war horses and destriers to fleet-hoofed racing horses to the smallest child's pony – Alanna could find nothing that excited her. Pride was the only horse that was different; he had a certain spark to him, a certain… something that was equated in her mind to a challenge.

_Like getting home should be a challenge,_ she thought. Tiredly, she rubbed a hand over her face, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be in Jon's arms, having him kiss her slowly and tell her how much he loved her. _I thought you'd sworn off loving him!_ But no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she needed to see Jon again.

_So how the hell do I get back?_ She looked around, hoping to see something that would spark a plan in her mind. Nothing. _Well, then…_ She yawned, cracking her jaw in the process. Sleep had to come first, she decided. She opened the door of the tiniest pony's stall – Pride would probably step on her while she slept – and curled up in a clean corner to sleep.

------------

Meanwhile, the Goddess rose from her seat in the Great Hall. Her bones creaked slightly, and she thought ironically that after several thousand years, time does tell on you. Even if you are immortal and don't show any signs of aging. Shaking her head, she walked briskly to her room at the top of the tallest tower. Once there, she settled herself comfortably on a plush settee.

She closed her eyes, envisioning the Tortallan castle. It was nighttime, and Jon was – perfect. In his room asleep, just as she'd hoped. Although it was not normal for a goddess – especially the Great Mother Goddess – to enter men's dreams, in this case, it was necessary.

------------

_He was in a beautiful green wood. Everything was bathed in soft golden light and shifting shadows of leaves. He was mounted on a huge charger, bigger than even the biggest horse in the castle's stables. His sword was buckled at his hip, one hand resting on the hilt and the other on the reins._

_Suddenly, everything shifted. He wasn't sure how – he was still in the forest, still on the horse. Without warning, a voice broke through the stillness. It was that of a woman, albeit much deeper than a woman's voice typically was._

"_Heed my words," she whispered. "The one who you are missing can be brought back. She is not dead; rather, she is taking a holiday of sorts. She can be found. You must simply find her favorite place in the world. Think of her. Call to her. And she will come._

"_Once she comes, it is imperative that you give her this message. If she can find the border while concentrating on you, she will…"_

_His dream changed. Now he was standing on a cliff. Something shoved him from behind. Rather than falling as he'd expected, he flew. Huge wings replaced his arms, and, miraculously, he knew how to use them. He flew, perching momentarily on the peak of the highest mountain he'd ever seen. After about ten minutes, he saw another flying figure. Coming closer, he saw it was – no, it couldn't be! But it was. Alanna._

_Again, his dream self shifted. Now he was dreaming about embarrassing himself at an upcoming meeting._

------------

The Goddess was pleased. It was one of her better dream messages in quite some time. Dream messages were not something she played with often, but when she did, they were usually mediocre for a goddess of her standing. But this one – it would take him quite a while to figure it out. "Her favorite place…" He would puzzle over that for ages.

------------

In the morning, Jon stretched and yawned. He thought about turning over and returning to the blissful realms of dreams. But then he remembered. That message. Strangely enough, he remembered the words exactly, even though he remembered none of his other dreams or where he'd been when he'd received it. "The one who you are missing can be brought back. She is not dead; rather, she is taking a holiday of sorts. She can be found. You must simply find her favorite place in the world. Think of her. Call to her. And she will come. Once she comes, it is imperative that you give her this message. If she can find the border while concentrating on you, she will…" And there it had faded out. "Her" obviously referred to Alanna. There wasn't any other woman he was missing.

But her favorite place in the world would take a bit more thought. After all, she loved the stables, she loved being on Moonlight's back and going for a good gallop. She loved the practice courts and honing her skill at all the fighting arts. Not to mention the library, the Dancing Dove… This list was endless.

So which was her favorite?

_Author's Note: I apologize that this was a bit shorter than usual, but with my creative muse back in action, hopefully chapter five will be up within a few weeks. I felt I had to end it here so it didn't drag on for years and years… Plus, I have to keep you in suspense! evil author laugh_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I haven't morphed into Tamora Pierce over-night. Sorry to disappoint you all, but I haven't suddenly bought all of the characters and copyrights from her, either. Therefore, this isn't mine, and it's all in good fun. My only payment is your wonderful comments._

_Author's Note: This was one of the easiest chapters for me to write, with the possible exception of the first one. My muse is back, and everyone must congratulate her! To Pink Squishy Llama – I apologize from the bottom of my heart. But I am at the whims of my muse, and I'm not going to do anything to make her leave again!_

Alanna was stiff. That kind of all-over stiff you get from sleeping sitting up, in an exceptionally small space, or doubled up. Gaining consciousness after her long nap slowly, she realized that she'd crammed herself very uncomfortably into the corner of a horse's stall. _Oh, not smart,_ she thought. _Not smart at all. _As she sat up and stretched to relieve some of the stiffness, she remembered her predicament. _Lovely. Hopefully I'll be able to figure out how to get out of this mess…_

------------

Jon closed his eyes in yet another place. He was afraid he was making a complete fool of himself, crouched in the corner of the deserted practice courts. That wasn't the best way to go as the heir to the throne. His lips moved silently, mouthing, "Alanna… Alanna… Alanna…" over and over in a steady rhythm. After nearly ten minutes of absolutely nothing happening, he gave it up as a lost cause. Obviously the practice courts were not her favorite place.

Neither was the stable, nor Moonlight's back (it had taken a while for him to convince the hostlers that he had a good reason to exercise the mare, who had returned riderless several days ago). For that matter, he was pretty sure it wasn't the library either. He'd been interrupted, but he'd been concentrating for over five minutes. Surely it wouldn't take that long.

The list had gotten longer and longer. He had made plans to go to the Dancing Dove later that day. He thought that her old rooms were a possibility as well, although he didn't think that was her favorite place. Hell, he'd even added his rooms to the list, despite the fact that their parting had been less than serene.

------------

Now more fully awake, Alanna thought over the course of the last few – hours? Days? Weeks? Time traveled differently in the Realms of the Gods, that she knew. _The sword that isn't Lightning, that sings in my hand. Singer. I'll christen it Singer._

She knelt, drew the sword and thrust it into the air above her head, holding the hilt with both hands. Looking up at it almost reverently, she whispered aloud, "I christen you Singer. Serve me faithfully and well." With that she stood up, slipping Singer back into its sheath. While she unlatched the stall door, she rubbed the pony's face, thanking the small gelding silently for allowing her to use his space for a nap.

Once again ambling down the aisle, she contemplated everything else. Ewan, how to get back home, the Jon problem – that was a good name for it. "The Jon Problem."

------------

Once again, the heir to Tortall found himself relying on Raoul for help. He'd explained his dream in what detail he remembered, repeated the message from who he'd concluded to be the Great Mother Goddess. He'd crossed out every place on the list and stabbed it violentlywith the quill when none of them had brought forth anything resembling Alanna. The only thing that had happened was getting a few odd looks and a couple of inquiries to his health.

"And you tried the practice courts." Raoul wasn't voicing a question, but rather repeating something they'd been over time and again.

"Yes, and the stables, Moonlight's back, her old rooms – the list goes on. Here it is, if you want to see." His tone was slightly bitter.

Raoul laughed gently. "Jon, I can't even read this. It's so full of ink blots and crossings-out and this great stab-wound."

"Well then, what do you suggest I try? Nothing we've been over has worked. Nothing."

"You tried your rooms. All of them. You tried… damn it, I can't think of anything else. She doesn't have very many good memories back at home. The dining hall, the throne room – well, not the throne room. What else?"

"You're reaching the same conclusion I am. Hocus-pocus, the joke of some apprentice at the University who heard of the missing knight."

"No, I don't think so. It's pretty tough to project your thoughts and words into a dream like that, especially one as elaborate as that. You know the whole message by heart, after all. No average apprentice could do that."

"So, then, what the hell is her 'favorite place'? I'm getting sick of this guessing and making a fool of myself." He shoved his chair back and stood up, slapping his hands on the table. "I've had enough. I'm going for a good long gallop – and not on her mare, either."

------------

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. This was such a goddamn waste of time, Alanna knew. She had no clue how she could return to Tortall. And she suddenly couldn't think of anything she wanted more in the world than to be in Jon's arms again. It was an annoying thought, but she couldn't shake it and she had finally decided to accept it. After all, what you can't fight makes you stronger – or something like that, anyway.

------------

_Come on, Alanna!_ Jon thought. _Whatever the Goddess said was going to happen hasn't happened yet. Can't you do a poor man a favor and fulfill his wishes?_

------------

Without warning, Alanna was being simultaneously sucked down a small tube and steam-rolled flat. It was not an experience she would wish on anyone, and she had no idea why the hell it was happening now. Nor did she know exactly what "it happening" was or what it meant.

She had the oddest sensation – she was not moving, but she was still being sucked down the tube and squished. However, a scene was rushing closer to her. If she were asked later, she would say with one-hundred-percent certainty that it was the scene that was moving, not her.

As it came closer, she recognized one of the many hallways of the castle. "Jon?" she tried to whisper. Nothing came out.

------------

"Alanna?" Jon breathed, barely trusting himself to speak. "Look, I'm supposed to give you this message. If you can find the border of wherever you are while concentrating on me, you will… And then it faded out." As he moved in to hug her and possibly kiss her the way he'd only been dreaming about lately, his fingers drifted through the vision, causing it to dissipate like smoke. "Alanna…" he choked out. He slid down the wall to a crouch, where he put his head in his hands. Was that really her? Or was it all a dream?

------------

Crashing back to the ground – not physically, but returning to the Realms of the Gods – Alanna wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean. _Find the border of the Goddess' lands while thinking of Jon? But the Mother specifically said not to._ Her train of thought was interrupted by a whinny. _Since when have you been one to think? Not much you've done has involved thinking, and everything has turned out alright._

Sprinting towards the tack room, she grabbed Pride's tack and hoof pick. She stuck the pick in her belt and hefted the saddle on one arm, carrying the bridle, breastplate, and girth strap on the other. Hurriedly, she tacked up and swung into the saddle. "C'mon, Pride!" she whooped. _Jon, I'm coming home,_ she added silently.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:** -hits snooze button- Awww… I don't want to wake up! That was such a nice dream I was having, that I was Tamora Pierce. But sadly, it was nothing more than that – just a dream. The only things I own are Ewan and the plot. Sorry, guys._

_Author's Note: Yes, well, Pink Squishy Llama - once again, my sincerest apologies._

_Well, that didn't help,_ Jon told himself. He pushed himself up and continued his aimless wandering. He'd tried everything, every last place that Alanna had ever set foot in. Unless the desert was her favorite place – which he could not imagine, due to the fact that the one note he had received from her during her short stay in the desert had been less than favorable.

------

Alanna had been galloping for nearly a half an hour and Pride was starting to show the strain. She slowed to a steady trot, still searching out the border. _Come ON, dammit! It has to be around here somewhere!_ Cresting yet another rolling, green hill – rolling green hills get very boring after awhile – she saw it. Inexplicably, she knew that this… _thing_ had to be the border of the Goddess' lands.

The border wall was made of what appeared to be solid, mirror-like volcanic rock. When she was within a few feet of it, she could see thin blue threads shimmering through it. Nearly within touching distance, she reached out a finger. At that moment, Pride spooked and reared, squealing and spinning. Alanna was nearly unseated, her precarious position not helping matters any.

Dismounting, she tied Pride to one of the tree-gods, silently begging for forgiveness. Approaching again, she succeeding in bringing her hand to meet the barrier. It was as if a shockwave had gone through her, shaking her to her very core. Disoriented for a moment, she shook her head to clear it.

Within a moment, she realized something. The wall was completely solid.

Immovable.

Impenetrable.

And she doubted that magic would break it.

_Well, that's a problem,_ she thought, plopping herself down on the grass. Looking around, she saw nothing but grass, trees, a few summertime flowers, and Pride. Not one thing that would help her find a way through the wall. Remounting Pride, she realized something. _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she berated herself.

This was a wall. Walls have gates.

------

"Any luck?" Raoul asked dubiously.

"No. Nothing. I contacted her somehow. I think I did, at least. But I haven't seen a trace of her since then. She wasn't even… solid. I think I'm going to go and tilt at one of the quintains for a while."

He exited the room, allowing the heavy oaken door to pound solidly shut behind him. He was back a moment later.

"Blast it all, it's raining." Sulking over to the large circular table, he slumped sullenly into the chair he'd been occupying all day. "Damn it to hell. I hate this. I hate not knowing, I hate playing when I don't know all the rules. I don't always need to be in control. But I hate this."

Raoul shook his head. "I know. Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"If you have something you need to do, don't let me stop you."

------

_Gate, gate, gate. _Alanna repeated her new mantra over and over to herself. She was leading Pride, although with his status as an animal god, she knew he wouldn't return with her. Deep inside her, she knew she should remove his tack and let him wander free for a while. But she couldn't help it – she loved his stocky build and gorgeous, unique coloring.

The task was boring, and she was starting to yawn. After what seemed like ages, she reached what she assumed must be the gate.

And what a gate it was. A massive stone arch supported elaborately wrought gates, vines and flowers of many precious metals twining in and around each other. Leaves and petals were accented with tiny precious and semi-precious stones. The keystone of the arch was fronted with the largest black fire opal Alanna had ever seen. Also, the latch of the gate was made of fire opal.

Standing in front of the gate, blocking the way, was a prancing centaur. He held the largest bow Alanna had ever seen in one hand with a quiver of arrows draped over his back. "Good morrow, small human traveler! What brings you this way?"

Alanna released Pride's reins and knelt, bowing low. "Good day, Centaur," she said in polished courtier's tones. "I was brought here by the Great Mother Goddess and seek to return to the Human Realms. May I pass?"

"Did the Mother wish you to return?"

"Yes. She sent my king a message, which he relayed to me. How, I'm not sure. But yes, she does wish me back home."

"Then you may pass." He spoke a strange word in some long-forgotten language, and the gate silently opened on oiled hinges. Leaving Pride in the Realms of the Gods where he belonged, she strode purposefully through the gate.

------

With nothing more than a slight flash of light and a popping of her ears, Alanna was in a deserted back hallway of the Tortallan castle. Taking a moment to orient herself and quickly check herself over for any injuries (there were none, of course), she headed off to seek out Jon.

When she was nearly to his chambers – she'd run into only a few people, thank the gods, most of whom were servants and had just mumbled a quick, "Excuse me, Lady," – she met someone completely unexpected.

"George! How are you?" He was dressed in palace servants' garb – as usual, successfully disguised from the Lord Provost.

"Alanna!" He caught her up in a fierce hug. "Where have you been? Tell George all about it later, would you?" His voice suddenly became husky. "Alanna, there's something I need to do…"

Her heart sank. She knew he loved her – but she also knew that he wasn't right for her. "George, no… I can't. Please understand. I'm so sorry."

"Just once. I just want to know what I'm missing." Suddenly his mouth was over hers, tongues dancing, his hand up the back of her shirt, her hands woven through his hair. She was completely powerless to stop it, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to.

"GEORGE! What the HELL are you doing? In public? Which serving girl did you…" There was a slight pause, during which Alanna felt her knees turn to jelly. It was the worst way possible for him to find her. "NO. I will not have you back in the castle. Mouth off, hands off, anything else off. Out. The next time I see you, I will turn you in to the guards, who will turn you in to the Lord Provost. He will have you tortured, hung, drawn and quartered, tarred and feathered, and only the gods know what else. I will enjoy every minute of it." His voice was steely, almost cold.

"Jon… I – it's not what you think it is." Alanna tried to salvage the situation. This mess was much worse than she'd expected. She never should have gone to the desert in the first place, much less gone with the Goddess. "I love you, truly, I do! You don't understand!" She'd uttered the condemning phrase, those three words that she had said many times before. But those many times before were sincere. This time, she wasn't sure what she wanted – but she wanted Jon to remain her friend, her ally. He was not a man that anyone wanted as an enemy.

"Alanna. I'm glad you're back safely," he replied. His voice was calm, but his anger and confusion were clearly visible in his blue eyes. "But let me deal with this. I'll talk to you later."

George stood in the middle of the hallway, torn between staying and watching the brewing argument, or leaving and saving his ass.

"No! Jon, let me explain! I…" Alanna had no idea how to go about this without bringing herself or George down. "Let me talk. Don't interrupt. I got back, and I was coming to your chambers to see you. I met George on the way. We greeted each other, and then he said that if I couldn't love him the way I love you, he wanted to know what he was missing. But I didn't resist, Jon. I didn't try to stop him; he wasn't forcing himself on me. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'll understand if you don't ever want to see me again." By this time, she was working hard to keep the tears from flowing down her face unchecked. Swiping a hand angrily across her cheeks at the few drops that had escaped, she turned to walk away.

Jon crumpled. "Alanna, no. I'm sorry. I don't… I… Never mind." And with a few long strides, he caught up to her and pulled her into his arms. "Oh, gods, it's been too long." He turned her face gently upwards, and kissed her hungrily. And without a doubt, Alanna knew that this was where she belonged.

_Author's Note: We are by no means done. Fluffy A/J chapter up next – long overdue, according to Pink Squishy Llama. She's continuously complaining that I'm too evil to Jon, for which I apologize. The whole scene with George though… I had to do it, it's been driving me insane since something like chapter four._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:** Ready? Here is my meeting with my lawyer:_

_Lawyer: Now, Ms. WomanWarrior, please remind everyone._

_Me: Yes! Of course! Now, what did you want me to remind them of? … Oh, yes. adopts monotone I hereby announce to the world that I am the new Tamora Pierce and therefore I—_

_Lawyer: smacks forehead reaches across table and smacks WomanWarrior No! No!_

_Me: You mean that's not it? Oh. dejected look_

_Lawyer: I'll do it for you. WomanWarrior hereby announces that she is not Tamora Pierce and has no copyrights on any of the characters or places in any of her stories. The only thing she has rights to are her ideas. Also, she would like to say that no profit is being made (beyond your reviews) and of course, no copyright infringement is intended. Thank you._

_Me: whispered to readers I hate lawyers sometimes._

_Author's Note: Everyone, I know you're anxious for this chapter. However, please remain behind the yellow line (yes, missus, that yellow line, right there on the floor) at all times unless it is your turn and you are called forward. For your safety, remember that on the ride, all body parts (yes, mister, that includes bags, backpacks, umbrellas, cameras, and any other paraphernalia you may choose to bring with you) must remain completely inside of the car. Now, please form a single file line._

They broke apart after what seemed like hours. "Oh, Gods, Alanna…" he whispered, burying his nose in her hair and pulling her even closer.

"I love you, Jon," she replied, knowing for sure that she truly meant it. Nothing could ever change that, and nothing would. "But you need to apologize to George. He's not only my good friend, but yours as well. If you want me to stay, you have to get back on friendly terms with each other."

Turning slightly so Alanna was nestled up against him, his arm around her shoulders, he spoke to the King of Thieves. "I apologize, George. I was too hasty--"

"—and I was kissing your girl. I understand. I'll just be leaving now." He made to move off down the hallway, but Jon stopped him.

"You can come back, and you can talk to Alanna and me. Just, please keep your hands to yourself when it comes to Alanna." With the arm not around Alanna, he shook George's hand.

Then, wasting no time whatsoever, he turned back to the redhead, kissing her again. "Can we… my rooms…?" he asked, his tone husky.

"Of course," she replied. She'd already unbuttoned his shirt – one of her favorites, in a blue that matched his eyes, with loose, flowing sleeves and tight cuffs. "I love you, Jon."

Kicking the door shut behind them, Jon scooped Alanna into his arms. "I love you, too, my lady knight."

------

"Alanna! Ye scared the wits outta me, runnin' away like that! And your damn witchin'. Ye know I can't stand it. It's unnatural, it is." Coram had already given her his trademark bear-hug prior to her verbal berating.

"But I'm back, Coram. No harm done. Now, can I please go check on my horse and take care of a few things?" She was impatient to give Moonlight a good grooming and maybe go out for a gallop. As gorgeous and exciting as Pride had been, she missed her faithful, if aging, mare.

"If you say so…" the big manservant and guard grumbled, heading off to the tailor's to get his work breeches repaired. He had a soft spot in his heart for the young woman, and he really didn't like the ways she put herself at risk. Ah, well, he thought, shaking his head. There wasn't a whole lot that he could do about it.

------

After dinner, she sat in a hard wooden chair, her bare feet propped up on the desk in front of her. Jon was in a more comfortable chair behind her, rubbing her shoulders. "Have I told you today that I love you?" he whispered in her ear, touching his lips to the sensitive spot just below it.

"Yes, you have. But you can keep saying it. I love you, too, Jon." Alanna stood up and, moving the desk chair out of the way, plopped down on his lap.

"Hey!" he protested weakly, any other words quickly smothered by her lips on his and her hands weaving through his hair. Breaking away, he whispered, "I love you."

"Me, too," Alanna replied, a tiny grin darting across her face. "I love myself dearly."

Jon responded with a grin and another kiss. "Oh, you. This is why I love you so much, you know." Suddenly, his face turned serious. "Alanna, we have to… talk about something. The kingdom needs a queen who can hold balls, dance and socialize with ease, host foreign ambassadors. Someone who always acts demurely and knows what she can and cannot say, and to whom she can and cannot say things."

"Are you telling me I don't clean up nicely?" Alanna's response was slightly indignant.

He shook his head. "No. I'm simply saying that the wild mare must learn to accept the curb bit and draw reins. At least in the public eye. What we do together is of absolutely no concern to the rest of the world." A tiny smile broke through his otherwise serious demeanor.

"Can't they accept a warrior queen?"

"That from you, the one who left for the desert because she was afraid of not being accepted? They will accept your past. That you can't change. But you do need to tone yourself down just a bit."

"No. I am not going to put down my Singer--"

He broke her off. "Singer? Who is Singer?"

"Oh?" Alanna raised one eyebrow slightly. "Singer is my sword. Well, Lightning, really, only changed. She disappeared for a moment to her rooms, returning with the sheath containing her sword. She drew it proudly. "Blue steel, see? Like the Yamanis have, only not quite as expensive. It hums, too."

Jon took it from her, admiring the blade. "It hums, you say? I can't feel it at all."

"That's why I called it Singer," she explained patiently. "It sings in my hand, you see. Like, a sort of humming. But… stronger. It's hard to explain. You don't feel it?"

"No," he replied. "It's custom-made for you; Lightning's magic enhanced somehow to fit your style and your hand. See, your hand fits perfectly around the hilt, like it was made for you." He handed it back and she returned it to its sheath, setting it on the desk.

"I refuse to put aside Singer and Moonlight, and my tilting saddle, my armor, my bow, and my lance, my breeches and tunic. And most especially, I refuse to trade them in for heavy skirts, lacy fans, jewels, and politely sipping out of a tea-cup. If you want me to marry you, Jon, which is what I'm sure you're getting at, you take me as I am."

After a slight pause, she added an afterthought. "I'll go to your balls, and memorize your ambassadors' wives' names and whatever else you want me to do. Make polite conversation, host balls… But I will not stop being a knight."

"But Alanna, the kingdom needs an heir. You can't bear children and fight!" he protested.

"I seem to recall being told that women couldn't be knights, either. And you know very well – better than anyone, I'm sure – that I'm a woman. Not to mention that you're an only child. What's to stop your heir from being an only child?"

"Nothing at all. I always wished for a brother or sister. Someone to help me live up to my parents' expectations."

Alanna stood up. "Enough seriousness." She pulled him up with her, and Jon kissed her. He backed her into the wall, and was halfway to pulling her shirt off when she stopped him.

"The bed is so much more comfortable than a stone floor."

------

Alanna groggily opened her eyes. They seemed glued shut, but something important was happening. Then she caught it. The ringing of the palace alarm bells. She rolled over into Jon's still-sleeping form. "Wake up!" she whispered urgently. "The alarm bells, Jon!"

"Whaaaa…?" he groaned.

"No, Jon! WAKE UP!" This time she shook his bare shoulder.

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he registered the clanging from outside. "Get dressed!" he shouted. "We have to go and see if we can do anything."

A few minutes later, the door was flung open by a harried manservant.

"FIRE!" he screamed, his eyes wild with fear.

"Oh, shit," Jon whispered when the servant had slammed the door on his way out. "Fire _and_ an attack."

_Author's Note: Nineteen pages. That's how long this story is. Nineteen pages! And as you can tell, it ISN'T OVER YET! I'd be stupid to end with fire and an attack at the same time. So, faithful readers, review, review, review! This is two chapters in less than three hours. Granted, I had Chapter Six written for a few days before posting it, but I just wrote Seven in less than three hours! Please? I will give you a dish of cyber ice cream!_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:** Anyone who believes that I'm really Tamora Pierce should be locked up in the loony bin. Because I'm not her, and all the stuff you recognize belongs to her. Not me._

_Author's Note: Now, let's hear about the attack and the fire, shall we!_

Alanna quickly finished buckling on her sword-belt, clipping on the sheath complete with Singer as she went. Jon was not two steps behind her, his motions mirroring hers. She glanced frantically to the left and right, trying to decide which way was quicker – and safer. "Damn manservant didn't tell us where the fire is," she whispered under her breath, heading left down the corridor.

"Stay here, see what you can do!" Jon tossed back, sprinting ahead, turning right down a staircase.

"No!" she replied, quickly following him. "I want to get a chance to draw blood with Singer in a real battle. The servants and pages can put out the fire."

------

When the pair reached an exit, they shoved the door open and charged outside. The misty morning was perfect for an attack; views of the walls were hazy at best, and nothing over three hundred feet away was visible. People were dim outlines in the fog. The only evidence that the safety of the castle had been breached for the first time in nearly a hundred years were the screams and yells, the clang of metal on metal, and the occasional whinny of a horse.

Turning around for a quick glance at the palace, Alanna was shocked to see flames shooting out of what had once been the palace kitchens. "Distraction," she said to no one in particular. She knew that her magic would be useful in controlling and putting out the fire, but the battle drew her. No good with fire magic anyway, she knew that she could be of more use out in the 'fields'.

Spinning around at a yell from behind her, she raised her sword to meet her enemy attacker. Nothing about his race or master was obvious from first glance; he looked cruel and evil as hell though. He bared his teeth in what she supposed passed for a grin and twirled his sword, slashing upwards.

She quickly parried and, remembering her teachers' words – _good attack wins the battle; not good defense_ – she spun in with a lightning-fast series of strikes of her own. Singer's tip scored a hit across her opponent's upper thigh, slicing enough muscle to cause him to collapse. She quickly gave him a mercy stroke across the throat and continued on.

------

Jon was locked in a battle of his own. Apparently this mercenary viewed him as a common foot-soldier, not realizing that he was indeed crown prince. The tall, lithe man taunted him like it was a tavern-fight, criticizing him and cursing him and his mother fluently in several languages. In the back of his mind, Jon couldn't help but wonder where these attackers were from.

Another enemy attacker came up from behind him, getting in a shallow cut across his upper arm before Alanna came in, cutting him down as she moved to protect her beloved's back. "See, you needed me," she panted as she readjusted her stance.

His focus remained on the new wave of attackers that appeared as a hazy wave through the mist. Raoul came running up, swinging his sword at multiple attackers on his way. "Jon, you need to help put out the fires. They can't do it with water – they need magic, and they insist that they need you."

Jon turned to face Alanna. "You'll be alright? Gods, I worry about you out here."

"Don't," she replied and pulled him to her for a kiss before he dashed off to see what he could do. "I worry about you, too, Jon," she whispered as she pressed her fingers to her lips.

The clash of swords and grunts of men brought her back to earth. She waded into the fray. As much as she hated taking advantage of her sex, she had to admit that it was useful. Apparently none of these men had ever heard of her, and most sneered and called her rude things. She just gave them a small smile before cutting several of them down, never getting into a real duel with any.

Sensing movement behind her, she whipped around, using the same motion to slash her sword across the man's shoulder. He was the first opponent she'd been able to see clearly, and unfortunately he looked like one of the leaders. He was a giant, built of hard muscle and lean sinew. There was a mean glint to his eyes and his long blond hair was dreadlocked. His two-handed broadsword coupled with his obvious strength meant that Alanna had to be careful; if they met hilt-to-hilt, he'd win – probably shearing off Singer in the process. She didn't fancy attempting to beat him with her belt knife and dagger.

"Look a' the pretty li'l bitch now, eh?" he slurred in heavily accented Common. "After ya get done wit' the sword-play, you wanna come home wit' me? Pretty war loot." He sounded drunk, which played in Alanna's favor. She hated him instantly for calling her a slut, wanting to add her to his probably large harem back wherever he came from.

He put out one square finger, attempting to touch her hair. Alanna snarled and with a swift motion that he didn't see, chopped it off. He howled, dropping his sword to clutch the bloody stump. "Oh, you bastard," she whispered under her breath. While his attention was on his finger, she stabbed him through the stomach. _He deserves a slow death,_ she thought. _The slower and more painful, the better. He had it coming, calling me a bitch. I don't like killing – but GODS will the world be a better place without him in it._

Looking around her, she realized that it was over. The guards, knights, and a few squires had tied up those of the enemy that were still alive – for later questioning, she assumed. The rest were dead or seriously injured. Scanning the faces of those on the ground for people she knew, she saw a handful of guards, one knight, and two squires – people she knew by face but not by name. Satisfied, she resheathed Singer and walked slowly back in the direction of the kitchens. They were now a burnt-out shell, timbers still smoking in the breeze. She inadvertently found herself hoping that Jon was alright – he had to be. After all, he had magic.

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly tripped over a kitchen maid sitting on the ground. She was rocking back and forth, crying and clutching her wrist. Her hand was severely burnt, and Alanna recalled Maude's message of four years earlier; _repay the killing with healing._ Kneeling down, she asked, "Can I help you?"

"Oh, lady," the maid replied through her tears and teeth clenched against the pain. "A kitchen wench like me doesn't deserve your help. Alanna the Lioness…"

"No, no," Alanna replied, gently removing the maid's fingers from her burnt hand, replacing them with her own. Purple fire wrapped around the red, painful-looking fingers. Pulling away, Alanna gave a slight smile. "It might be stiff for a few days, but it's much better."

"Oh, thank you, m'lady! I don't deserve it. But… thank you! Thank you!"

"You're welcome," Alanna replied. "It's the least I can do."

As she rose from her crouching position, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Jon. "Are you all right?" she gasped, eyes drawn to his sweat- and soot-streaked face.

"Tired. But I'll live. I need to get clean though. Gods, I'll never get the stench of smoke out of these things." He picked at his clothes as he spoke.

"Did anyone die?" Alanna dreaded hearing the answer, but she had to know.

"No, not that we know of. Most of the kitchen staff was asleep in the servant's quarters, and the few who were up got out quickly. There were some hurt trying to put it out, but nothing the palace healers can't fix. You aren't hurt, are you?"

Alanna sighed. "Scratches, nothing more." The stress of the battle and worrying about the man she loved caught up with her. "But Jon, this one man – he looked like he was higher in the rankings – Jon, he called me a bitch and said he wanted to take me home with him. He wanted me to be his whore, Jon. So I stabbed him through the stomach and left him there to die." A single tear trickled down her face, and she swiped at it angrily with the back of one hand. "Never mind," she continued, her tone stronger. "Let's go to the baths and start the day over."

He pulled her into a hug. "Oh, Alanna. He had no right to talk to you like that. But he's dead now; he can't do anything. He's lucky he was only stabbed in the stomach – if I'd gotten hold of him, he would've been chopped slowly into pieces."

She gave a grim laugh, and, arms wrapped around each other, they walked back to the castle.

------

Alanna had just finished pulling on her favorite pair of broken-in boots when there was a knock on the door. "Yes?" she called, hoping it was Jon.

"Can I come in?" his replied through the door.

"Of course!"

He looked downcast as he entered, and Alanna ran to him and kissed him. "Are you alright? You look… unhappy."

"My parents just called me down to the throne room. They want to talk to me."

"I'm coming with you," she responded, hoping that the king and queen would let her in on the discussion.

------

The guard at the door waved both of them in. Alanna went up to the thrones with Jon, bowing with him and then shrinking towards the back of the room.

"Hello Mother, Father." Jon greeted them with a stiff formality born of their location; Alanna knew that in less formal situations, he was much more relaxed around his parents.

"Good afternoon, Jon. We've summoned you here to discuss the future of our country. The attack today has woken us up about the need to search for a proper bride for you." His mother spoke gently, concerned about her only child's future as well as the future of her country.

_Holy Mother Goddess,_ Alanna thought. _What have we gotten ourselves into?_ In the back of her mind, though, it had nagged her that she would never become queen of Tortall.

The queen continued. "The attack was from a little-known country to the east, Mekka. They aren't known for battle prowess, but apparently their new king wants blood, and he wants his country on the map. We've been thinking about discussing your marriage to his daughter in return for peace for us and our allies."

Here, the king interjected. "Faella is young, but that means many good child-bearing years. Also, there are very few suitable royal women of age to marry at the moment. It's best to start preparing for our future now."

_Author's Note: Oh, yes. This is fun, isn't it!_


	9. Chapter 9

. _**Disclaimer:** I don't even own a horse. Do you really think I'm Tamora Pierce? Well, I'm not. Everything you recognize is hers._

_Author's Note: evil laughter Faella threw a wrench into everything, didn't she! However, before we get to the actual story, I'd like to sincerely thank everyone who has taken the time to review my story – whether once or eight times, I love you all! And now, what you've really been waiting for…_

Alanna lay spooned against Jonathan later that night, his hand tracing slow circles on her bare shoulder. "How could we have let that happen?" she whispered in a choked voice.

"I don't know. I don't know." His voice shook slightly; the stress of the past weeks was really catching up to him.

"So what are we going to do?" She was fighting to hold back tears herself, and she hated it. Knights, after all, didn't cry. And crying – trying not to cry – was something she'd been doing too much of lately.

"I don't know that either, love. I think we're just going to have to wait until Faella comes; maybe she'll be so vulgar and backward and barbaric that my parents will send her right back where she came from. If she's perfect – well, I love you more than I'll ever love her." With that, he kissed the nape of her neck and shut his eyes. "Sleep now."

------

A few nights later, Jon paced about his chambers. He picked up many small objects, twirling them around in his fingers and setting them down after a few moments. Nothing kept his mind off the upcoming events for long. Running out of things to play with, he began twisting the hem of his blue tunic around in his hands.

"Stop that!" Alanna berated him gently. "You know that only makes your tunic wrinkled. Then your mother gets mad and explains that it's all the more reason that you need a woman."

"But I already have a woman," Jon protested, pulling her in for a kiss.

"Oh, I don't know if you should say that you 'have' me – there is no taming me. And you yourself have said that I'm not a proper woman. I like my breeches and sword." She laughed and swatted Jon's shoulder lightly. "Men need to be put in their places sometimes."

Jon made a few noises of protest, but a knock on the door discouraged any further retaliation.

"Excuse me?" The knocker was the same timid kitchen maid whose hand Alanna had healed. "But the Queen has sent for you. You're supposed to descend the grand staircase." She bowed low before and after she spoke. Only after finishing her second bow did she notice Alanna. "Oh!" She had the look of a white-tailed deer caught in a sudden bright light. "Y-You'll need to g-go down through the entrance with the d-delegates and ambassadors and m-minor nobles. The Q-Queen didn't say anything about you!" Her slight stutter seemed to embarrass her all the more, and her face flushed. Bowing one last time, she turned and fled – a deer recovering from its initial shock.

"Well, I suppose we ought to go then." Jon paused, waiting for Alanna's response. When it didn't come, he turned to look at her. "Alanna?"

Alanna jumped, momentarily startled. _You need to stop thinking about the maid,_ she scolded herself. "Oh. Yes. I'll be down in a minute. Save a dance for me"

"Alright then. I will. I love you."

The moment that Jon shut the door to his chambers behind him, Alanna stripped off the dress she'd been wearing. It was navy blue and while it wasn't ill-fitting, it accentuated the wrong places and hid things that should've been shown off. The fact that it bagged slightly at the hips didn't help matters. It was borrowed from a friend for exactly these reasons – she didn't want Jon to see what she had really planned to wear.

She drew it from the trunk at the foot of the bed where she'd stashed it. Letting the fabric run through her fingers, she took a moment to admire it before slipping it on. It was simply cut with very few adornments. It didn't need any, however.

The forest-green satin clung to her every curve – curves that were, while still modest, quite womanly. The sleeves were made out of matching chiffon, tight to the elbow and flowing and loose to her wrists. The low-cut squared neckline showed off a bit more than she would normally be comfortable with – but she wanted to compare to this Faella. The slightly full skirt swept the tops of her feet, swaying with her every move.

To add to this, she slipped into a pair of black heeled slippers that she knew Jon would love. Loosing her hair from its previous twist, she allowed it to flow to the middle of her back. Jon liked it long, and she had to admit – with this dress, it was utterly perfect. She ran a comb through it, which served to accentuate the slight waves.

From the trunk, she picked up the golden chain she'd bought to wear with her ember. Slipping it off the old silver one, she let the gold flow through the loop attached to the still-glowing drop. Reaching around, she fastened it around her neck, the drop coming to rest in its familiar place on her breastbone. The final touch was just a hint of dark eye-tint on her eyelids.

Walking around the room a few times to get used to the heels on her shoes and her long skirt, she took a moment to glance at herself in the mirror. Although she would always prefer breeches, she had to admit that she was pretty without her hair bound up in a braid or knot. _Serves Jon right,_ she thought, _and I'll show that Faella and the king and queen that there's something to be said for our girls at home. Even the warriors._

------

"Announcing Princess Superior of Mekka, Most Honorable Marchioness of Knell, Countess of Tethren, Her Highness Faella of Mekka, and our very own Crown Prince Jonathan of Conte!" cried the man stationed to announce incoming nobility.

Alanna came in a few moments later in a much less noteworthy fashion. She nearly tripped over the trailing train of a noblewoman, but otherwise made no attempt to draw attention to herself. She had to be patient.

"May I have this dance?" asked a voice from behind her.

Alanna turned around slowly to avoid turning an ankle. "And you would be..?" she asked the man. He wasn't Jon, but he wasn't bad to look at either.

"Oh, yes. Sorry, I'm Baron James of Giant's Mound – it's very small and to the far east of Tortall. Most people haven't heard of it," he blustered, adding a slight bow to the end of his words. "And you're..?"

"Yes. I'm Alanna." Alanna purposefully added no title to her name, hoping that he wouldn't connect her name to the lady knight.

"May I have this dance, Alanna?" James asked again.

"Of course." She curtsied over his extended arm, proud of herself for remembering just how much one should bend at the knees to a baron.

He led her out onto the dance floor and led her in the steps of the waltz that the court musicians were currently playing. "Have you seen that Faella they're thinking about betrothing to the Prince?" she asked, hoping her tone and her face didn't betray her personal attachment.

"No. She was announced, but there was such a crowd, I didn't get a glimpse of her."

"Oh." Alanna gave up trying to talk and tried to enjoy the moment. As soon as the song was over, however, she politely excused herself. James was a wonderful dancer and would hopefully find himself a fine wife soon. But he was not for her. No one but Jon would ever be for her.

Weaving through crowds of dancing and chatting nobles, the redhead poured herself a drink. Taking a sip, she tasted the alcohol. _Good_, she thought. _If I do something stupid, I can write it off as drunkenness._


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer:** Yeah. Right. While you're at it, thinking I own all this, would you please bring me a beach chair, a good book, and some kind of colorful alcoholic drink with an umbrella? As well as the beach, of course – preferably somewhere in the Caribbean, although I wouldn't say no to a beach in the Mediterranean. Yes, thank you! (For those of you who HAVEN'T figured out by now, I have an odd sense of humor and this is my way of saying – it's all Tamora Pierce's, goddamn genius that she is!)_

_Author's Note: We still haven't met Faella, so you have no idea what kind of a wrench she's thrown into things. I promise, though, it's not a pretty wrench. It's big and oily, possibly rusty. evil grin I'd also like to take a moment to continue to thank my reviewers! You guys are amazing. Now, on to the scheduled programming. It includes some nice happy fluff for all of you!_

Alanna continued to wander, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jon – and therefore Faella. She saw and chatted with many people she knew, but each time she couldn't wait until the conversation was over. _Damn being short_, she thought.

Finally, the crowd parted as if drawn on puppet strings. Caught up in the sudden movement, Alanna found herself standing on the edge of a wide aisle-way. Walking up it in a slow stately fashion was Jon with a girl on his arm.

_Damn!_ Alanna thought. Faella was not only younger than she was, but she was also the kind of woman who made everyone in the room – even the other women – look long and hard, drinking in every detail. In her slight imperfections – the proud arch of her nose, her diminutive stature, breasts too large for her size, and the smattering of freckles across her face – she was perfect. Worse, Alanna realized, she was perfect for Jon. They complimented each other like night and day. She was as fair as he was dark – her soft blonde curls, large greenish-blue eyes, and tiny frame were the complete opposite of him.

_Damn it to hell. She doesn't know how to make him groan with pleasure and desire; she doesn't know that he has a weakness for chocolate. She has no idea how to it feels to hear him call out your name in a crowd and feel the connection you have with him._

But the small voice in her head continued. _She could never keep up with him; she's too fragile. She'll require so much upkeep, while all I need are the clothes on my back and a sword in my hand. She's been protected and mollycoddled all her life – there's no way in hell she'd understand the relationship that I have with Jon._

-----

"Jon, tell me honestly. What did you think of her?" She noted his hard-on, wondering with an odd detachment who had brought it about.

"She's beautiful," he whispered.

Alanna felt the tears rising, the horror close behind. "Is that all?" she said, voice stony. "Is that all you're going to offer me? We've been together for so long, Jon. That's it?"

Jon bit his lip, the realization hitting him. "Alanna, no! I love you. I-I – She can't replace you, Alanna. She never will. She's stunning, but she could never compare to you. Your hair – and your eyes… No one else I have ever met has understood me as completely as you; no one else--"

She cut him off. "Damn it, I wasn't fishing for compliments! If you really want to explain how much you love me…" She pulled him in, bringing his head down to hers and kissing him hard. Just as suddenly, she pushed him away, breathing hard. "Look at me. Do you love me? Because as much as I love you, I will not change for you."

"Alanna – I – No. I mean, yes. No, no. I--"

Alanna allowed a slight smile to cross her lips at his utter confusion. "It's a simple question, Jon. All you have to do is say yes or no."

"Yes, Alanna! Gods, yes!"

"Then show me," she replied, kicking off her shoes and peeling off her stockings. He helped her with the fastenings of the dress, and she slid out. "I love you too, Jon."

"I love your dress," he breathed into her ear, "but you look better without it."

-----

The next morning, Jon was once again called before his parents. Alanna stayed behind, cleaning and polishing her armor, chain mail, and weapons.

When he returned, she asked eagerly, "How was it? What did they have to say?"

He plopped down on the bed, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "That bad?" she inquired.

"Yes. She's young, pretty, feminine, she has a big dowry, she brings a peace agreement, _and_, as if that's not enough, she knows how to consort with other nobility. My parents tell me that it's time I give up seeing you and start courting someone proper, in the proper way. Gods, she's probably a virgin," he shuddered.

"Might I remind you that I was a virgin when you met me?" she replied, a slight tone of mocking in her voice.

"You also can survive on your own; you don't need a man to hold yourself up."

"True," she responded, "I'm glad you've finally realized that!"

He shook his head, taking a moment before speaking. "Alanna, I don't know how we're going to manage it. They're in love with her, with all that she brings to Tortall. I'm sorry. I want to marry you, but I don't know how we're going to be able to pull it off."

"Jon, it's simple. Propose to me in the most public, most romantic, most sappy way possible. I shall respond in an equally public, romantic, and sappy way. I'll wear a low-cut gown and stick my chest in your face, and then we'll go and dance the night away at whatever ball there so happens to be."

Laughing, he pulled her closer, kissing the tip of her nose. "That's my Alanna. You always have a plan."

"Oh, haven't we talked about this enough? I'm not _your_ Alanna! I'm my own Alanna, thank you very much. And have a nice day, while you're at it." The banter between them was easy and as natural between them as the tides are natural to the sea.

He tugged her onto his lap. She fell back against him, tilting her face up for a kiss. "Oh, so you're not _my_ Alanna? Then why should I kiss you? Shouldn't you be off kissing your reflection in the mirror?" He acquiesced anyways, gently kissing her lips.

"No tearing my clothes off, Jon!" she warned as they parted for breath. "For now, we have to at least pretend to act appropriate. After all, your mother wants you to marry an appropriate, dainty woman."

Jon trailed small kisses down her neck. "Alanna…"

She tilted his face back up to hers, kissing him slowly, opening her mouth in response to his tongue. "We really do need to talk about what we're going to do," she said.

"Well, I'm going to have my way with you right here, right now, on the floor. Then you're going to go see a tailor and we are going to find you a maid. Of course, you're going to have to keep practicing with Singer, lest they forget that you're a knight."

"Mmm… When you put it like that, it makes sense."

-----

"Lady, what about this?" The seamstress brought out another shade of blue semi-sheer fabric.

"I've told you, I do not want a blue sheer dress!"

"Yes, Lady."

A few moments later, she returned. "Is this more to your liking, Lady?"

Alanna eyed the (once again blue) silk. "That is closer to what I was looking for."

"Wonderful. Let me show you some sketches."

Alanna sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. She had been at this shop for nearly an hour already. Mistress Irena Ivanova was highly recommended by many of the ladies at court. Alanna though that she had an odd love affair with blue and/or sheer fabrics.

"Now, Lady, shall we take a look at these?" She spread sheets of fine parchment out over the table. Each was filled with a sketch of an elaborate dress. They were in a variety of styles – from full hoop skirts to skirts with only petticoats under them. Bodices were cut low to the point of being nearly scandalous, or with high necks.

Alanna sighed as she looked over the patterns and said, "What do you suggest?"

_Author's Note: Hopefully you all enjoyed the little bit of fluff in the midst of all the problems brought on by a certain princess. )_


End file.
